


Hope Smiles

by fms_fangirl



Series: Jealous Time [4]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Other, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5628082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fms_fangirl/pseuds/fms_fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grell must deal with a difficult trainee reaper.</p><p>Takes place a few days after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5523752">Blessings</a>. Grell and Undertaker have been together since <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4250385">A Wild Rose</a>. Events from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4700900/chapters/10734098">The Lenten Season</a> are referenced, but it should not be necessary to have read any of these stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope Smiles

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to have be done by New Year's, but got out of hand. The title refers to a line from Tennyson:
> 
> "...hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come whispering 'It will be happier.'"

_December 27, 1890_

Grell sighed and tapped her pen against the paper before her. With great determination, she bent her head, began to write, scratched out the few letters she had formed and dropped her pen in disgust.

“Darling, are you sure I can’t fetch you something to eat?” Undertaker looked up from his book. “I’m still bursting from our dinner earlier and didn’t you promise to have all those exams graded by today?”

“I did. This is the last.”

He tossed another log on the fire. “I thought you said you were on the last paper an hour ago. It must be quite exceptional or truly awful to be taking this long.”

“It’s neither,” she said, raking her hair back. “That’s the problem. It’s a very poor paper, but he could just scrape through if the final essay was acceptable.”

“And it’s not?”

“I don’t know!” she cried. “I have no idea how to grade _this_!”

“May I see it?”

She handed him the last sheet, which he read quickly, his face growing grave. “This can’t be one of _your_ students. None of them would write such a thing.”

“He’s not. I’m not allowed to grade my own students’ papers since the midterms; I simply couldn’t mark any of them down.”

“You’re awfully hard on them in the practical.”

“Of course I am! Practical should count for a great deal more,” she insisted. “Mr. B Average and I still argue about that one,” she added with a grin. “He’s one of Oliver’s. He’s grading my students and I’m looking after his lot.”

“Well,” Undertaker said slowly, “the greater part of what he wrote is correct. Not everyone in the realm shares your opinion of me.”

She read the page again: Describe the history and contributions to the Dispatch of one figure. There followed an accurate, but highly critical outline of Undertaker’s career - as much as was generally known.

“Disrespectful little beast!” she muttered. “I could tolerate that and pass him, but it’s what he added.”

_After his exit, he entered a new career and rightfully dissociated himself from the Dispatch. He is currently engaged in an unnatural relationship with a known criminal and freak of nature - a relationship that must be considered contrary to the Will of the Higher Up and will eventually bring down the wrath of the Divine._

“I agree, but neither you nor I would be considered objective in this matter. I would suggest that you take it up with Oliver and William.”

“You’re right.” She consulted her watch. “William should still be in the office. Will you come? I can’t trust myself not to get hot and bothered if they don’t agree with me.”

“Of course, my dear.” He helped her into her coat and they stepped into the portal she opened.

XXXXXXXXXX

If William was startled by their sudden appearance in his office, he did an admirable job of hiding it.

“Grell! Undertaker! This is, um - a surprise.”

“And not a pleasant one,” she giggled. “Sorry William, but we needed to see you right away and you know what a fuss people make whenever Undertaker comes into the office.”

He nodded and adjusted his glasses. “Why do I suspect that a great fuss is about to ensue, anyhow?”

She dropped into the chair in front of his desk. “I sincerely hope that it won’t. I’ve been marking Oliver’s students’ exams. Take a look at this.” She shoved the paper at him.

William read it slowly. “You were right to bring this our attention. Excuse me while I speak to my secretary.” He slipped out and returned a moment later. “Oliver is in his office in the training facility. He will be with us in a few minutes. I have also sent word to the students’ residence that Malone is to report here immediately.”

“I urged Grell to come to you,” Undertaker said. “She is understandably upset by this.”

“Not just on my own account,” she interrupted. “It was a horrid comment to make, but I believe the matter is far more serious than a simple insult.”

“So do I. Had I been grading this paper, I would have recommended that he be culled immediately. Such opinions cannot be tolerated among the Shinigami.”

“Really William,” she laughed, “and when I think of some the things you’ve called me over the years - freak, disgusting, unnatural, immoral. You even called me a whore once.”

He turned a mottled red. “Honestly Grell! That was different! That was between you and me! This is an entirely different situation.”

“It is,” Undertaker said gravely. “We cannot have fanatics among us. They are too dangerous.”

“Fanatic! That might be a little severe,” she said. She was trying desperately to be fair; he was still very new to this new existence and, probably, still very confused. “He has strong opinions. Perhaps he is a bit misguided.”

“Oliver here, can tell us more about him,” William said as his secretary ushered in a grey-haired man.

He nodded at William and Undertaker. “Grell! You’ll be pleased to hear that your students all acquitted themselves very well in the written exam. You’ve done an excellent job with them.”

“Oh! I am so glad!” she cried, clasping her hands together.

“Who would have thought you could make such a fine instructor?” he wondered. “When I think of what a handful you were in training . . . Now, William here, he won me a bet with the Head Librarian. I said he would be Supervisor one day.”

Grell repressed a grin when William flushed with pleasure. He tried so hard to appear indifferent and emotionless and she knew that she would never stop trying to provoke him into revealing that side of himself he kept so carefully hidden.

“Quite,” he murmured. “I am sorry to disturb you, but we felt it necessary that you see this.” He handed the paper to the older man.

“Oh dear,” he sighed. “I was worried about something like this.”

“Has he been expressing thoughts like this?” Grell asked. “What sort of student is he?”

“Difficult. Not in the way you were,” he added quickly. “He has struggled since the beginning - barely passed the midterms. And the harder things were for him, the more angry Gregory became. I hoped that if he did well on the term exams it might settle him down a bit.”

“What is he like outside of class?”

“It’s odd. He seems to have everything going for him - exceptionally good-looking. You must have noticed him, Grell. The tall fellow with fair hair.”

“Oh yes! The golden-haired Adonis. That’s him?”

Oliver leafed worriedly through the paper. “Yes. You can’t help but stare at him, but we should all have such problems. He can be very charming - makes people want to please him, but it’s like there’s nothing more to him. He’s not even an average student. I don’t know if it’s because he can’t be bothered or simply hasn’t the ability.”

“So, he has a dazzling exterior and nothing else,” Undertaker put in. “Probably got through his human existence on looks and charm until it failed him. But has there been any sign he has been nursing opinions like this?”

“He has a strong conservative streak.”

“Which isn’t always a bad thing,” William interrupted.

“But this,” he waved the paper about, “would suggest it is becoming extreme.”

“And combined with his anger, it makes him unfit,” Undertaker said bluntly.

“Please darling!” Grell protested. “There were enough here, who thought I was unfit. He needs to be given every chance. Even you, Oliver, at our final exam, said I was on very thin ice. Didn’t he, William?”

“I did, but your problems were entirely different. You were reckless and hot-tempered - things that could be corrected in time.” He ignored William’s snort.

“Whereas this Gregory is angry and bitter and hold dangerous opinions,” Undertaker said.

Grell stiffened in her chair. “Surely, it can’t be that bad! Maybe some extra coaching would bring his marks up and make him happier.”

“You can see for yourself,” William said. “He’s here now.”

The door opened and William’s blushing secretary led him in. He wasn’t her type, but Grell caught her breath in admiration of his beautifully modelled features. He would be devastating if he could just smile, but his face was stubbornly set, his jaw clenched as he faced her.

She tried to put him at ease; the force of his dislike was palpable and she could feel Undertaker’s hands resting protectively on her shoulders. “Now dear,” she began, “this isn’t some sort of tribunal.”

“But we are concerned about your exam,” William interjected.

“I told the truth as I see it.”

His voice was rich and deep and musical, but she felt an uncomfortable shiver up her spine. “You don’t have to like or approve of me or Undertaker. Heaven knows there are enough here who don’t, but-”

“Your manner of expressing your opinion is alarming,” Oliver said. “We do not claim to know the Will of the Higher Up. Perhaps you were,” he fumbled for the right word, “a little over-presumptuous in your phrasing.”

“Undertaker is a legendary figure, here in the Dispatch,” William said sternly, “and Grell Sutcliff is a senior agent and instructor. Both are entitled to your respect; as a trainee, you have no right to pronounce judgement on how they live.”

“Undertaker was a known rule breaker and renegade, who has chosen to desert the Dispatch and Sutcliff is an abomination!” he burst out.

“That will do, Malone,” Undertaker thundered, but William had already pressed a button on his desk.

Two security officers entered and took hold of him. “You will be escorted back to the students’ residence and kept under guard until a decision is made. I like to be prepared,” he added as the young man was whisked from the office.

Oliver rubbed his face. “I guess we have no choice but to declare him unfit. I’ll see to the paperwork.”

“What will happen to him?” Grell asked quietly.

“The Asylum most likely.”

“No!” she shouted. “You don’t know what that place is like. _I_ do.” She shuddered at the memory.

“My dearest, he is too unstable. I am afraid William is right.”

“The council has gone to great lengths to improve conditions at the Asylum since your stay earlier this year.”

She shook off Undertaker’s hands and sprang to her feet. “There must be another solution,” she cried, clutching at her hair. She addressed Oliver. “How is he in the practical?”

He shook his head. “Again, just barely acceptable and, even worse, overconfident.”

“So, he’s not nearly as good at anything as he would like to think he is,” Undertaker said. “That makes him a danger to himself and others in the Dispatch, no matter what his beliefs might be. He is not fit to be a reaper and too unbalanced to exist among the Shinigami.”

Grell’s brow wrinkled in thought. “I’d still like to see him have one more chance. If he could prove himself in the field . . . I was angry and confused when I arrived here. Excelling at combat helped me a great deal. William, find me three or four collections scheduled over the next few days. He will accompany me and I will decide if he is fit.”

“Are you mad?” William exclaimed. “Honestly!”

“Of course I am, dear,” she grinned. “You know that. If he shows himself capable, he may not be so bitter.”

“But it is reckless and foolish. Have you no thought for your own safety?”

“As if a half-trained student could be a threat to _me_!” She glanced at Undertaker, who was ominously silent.

“Grell may be right,” Oliver said carefully. “If he could prove himself worthy, he might become less difficult. And as for her safety, there is no one more skilled in combat.”

“Very well then. I’ll let you and William have the pleasure of informing him that he will be working with me.”

XXXXXXXXXX

“I will not allow it! Do you hear me?”

“You cannot stop me!” she shouted.

They had been arguing for over an hour, since their return to Undertaker’s shop. She wasn’t blind to his concern, but all of his coaxing, pleas and demands were swept away, blotted out by a swelling wave of horror as her memories of her own short stay in the Asylum consumed her.

“Then I will accompany you.”

“You will not! I am not some helpless flower, who needs a man to protect her.” She punctuated every word with a hard poke to his chest.

“I think you are more like this Gregory than you are willing to admit.”

Grell felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. “What did you just say?” she shrieked, flying at him.

In a blinding flash of silver, he had her backed against the wall, his Death Scythe at her neck. “Pig-headed, stubborn and arrogant. You weren’t expecting that, were you?” he asked softly.

“Of course not!”

“And you won’t be able to strip me off and stuff me into a pot of salt this time,” he added with an infuriating grin. His Scythe vanished. “I am merely trying to point out that you must be on your guard. Yes, you are skilled and fearless, but he is angry and dislikes you intensely. You must not be overconfident.”

She was panting with rage - and something else. Her own Death Scythe appeared and slashed down the front of his robes with deadly precision. “Pity we don’t have more space here,” she laughed. “You could give me a real workout.” She pushed him to the ground and pulled his tattered robes apart.

“Minx!” he laughed, rolling on top of her and pinning her hands over her head. “You’ll still not be able to get me into a pot of salt.”

XXXXXXXXXX

_December 28, 1890_

The students’ residence hadn’t changed in the past century, Grell noted as she strolled down the hall. Several of her own charges, lounging in the common room, raced after her.

“Agent Sutcliff!”

“Ma’am! Please wait a second.”

She studied their anxious faces. “Good morning dears,” she said. “No doubt, you all noticed there has been a bit of a fuss.” She could see the security officer standing outside Gregory Malone’s door. The trainees must have been going mad. She should have visited them last evening and tried to set their minds at rest.

“Please Grell! Tell us! What’s going on?” one asked.

“Is he going to be culled?” put in another. “What will happen to him?”

She puffed out her cheeks in exasperation. No matter how often she tried to impress upon her students that no dreadful fate awaited those who were not suitable for reaping, the rumours persisted. “Has someone been telling you that culled trainees are sent straight to hell, again?”

She refused to think of the Asylum and sought to reassure them. “Nothing of that sort is going to happen. There has just been a spot of trouble, which I am sure we will be able to settle. Now dears, run along and tell the rest of your classmates that you all did very well on the exams. I’m so proud of you all. Enjoy the rest of your Christmas break. I expect to see you all at the Dispatch New Year’s Eve party.”

Glad that she had diverted them, she marched up to the door and gave a quick rap, before letting herself in.

“Oh do go away,” she ordered the security officer who followed her inside. “Mr Malone and I are going to have a little chat. Aren’t we, dear?”

His face was impassive, but he inclined his head slightly.

Insolent little wretch! She glanced around his room. The students’ rooms were bare and impersonal and none of them had been in the realm long enough to acquire many possessions, but, aside from a few books and papers and a slight indentation in his pillow, the room could have been uninhabited. There was nothing to give her a clue about the young man glaring at her.

“Stand up, please,” she said. As he remained unmoving, she bared her teeth. “I said _stand up_!”

She walked slowly about him. “You appear strong and healthy and fit.” She poked him in the side and watched him jump. “There is nothing wrong with your reflexes. There is no cause for you to be near the bottom of your class in combat. Are your spectacles all right? Did Oliver have them checked? Answer me!”

“Agent Walsh sent me back to Spectacles after the midterm,” he muttered. “Director Anderson checked them himself.”

“Then, unless you are a very stupid young man, there is no reason for you not to succeed here. Perhaps you need a greater challenge than we have been able to provide so far. We shall collect together for the next few days. If I am satisfied by your field work, your comments on the exam will be overlooked and you will be passed into the next level of training.”

“Who are _you_ to pass judgement on me?” he sneered.

“My dear Gregory,” she said with deceptive calmness, her lips curling into a menacing smile, “I am the queen of the reapers. It bothers you to hear me say that, doesn’t it? You think I’m disgusting and unnatural. You wouldn’t be the first and I doubt you’ll be the last, but I currently hold your fate in my hands.”

“Then why go through this farce?”

“Because my own training was - difficult. I was frequently in danger of being culled.”

“I am nothing like you!” he hissed.

Grell repressed a laugh, recalling her annoyance with Undertaker the previous evening. “You know,” she said sweetly, “I could slice you into ribbons right now and there would be no one to care. The only person in this realm who cares about your continued existence is I. Why do you suppose that is? And don’t flatter yourself. I have no, um - shameful designs upon your person.”

He stayed stubbornly silent.

“Very well. Because what they have planned for you will make you wish you had been sent to hell. _I_ know.” She walked slowly around him again until she faced him once more. “Such a pretty, pretty boy and so useless at self-defence,” she crooned, running her finger down his chest. “I held my own, but, as you said, you are nothing like me.”

He finally looked uneasy, but she couldn’t be sure if it was on account of her words or her proximity and touch. Grell tossed a file onto his desk. “Here is the information concerning our jobs. Familiarize yourself with it. I shall fetch you this evening.”

There was no point in returning to London for just a few hours. She made herself a cup of tea and went to her new office in the training facility. She missed her old office in the Dispatch, missed Ronald’s cheerful presence and missed having William nearby to provoke and tease. Often she missed being in the field and ached to swing her Scythe in a mad flurry of bloodlust, but she did not regret her decision to take up instructing the newest trainees and took great satisfaction in watching them grow in strength and confidence. The rewards - the stack of passing exams on her desk, the little Christmas gifts from her students and the honest affection, trust and respect they gave her more than repaid the lack of excitement.

She thought of the surly young man she had just left and sighed. Would she be able to reach him? Her thoughts were interrupted by William’s entrance.

“I hear you paid a call on Malone,” he said.

“I did. He is none too pleased to be working with me.”

“Grell,” he said softly, “you have done a marvellous job with your current students, but you must realize that not every trainee who passes through here is going to succeed. Oliver has been speaking with his classmates. The situation may be graver than we thought.”

“How?”

“His opinions are rigid and extreme. Time and experience might help, but he is winning some over to his way of thinking. He is handsome and said to be quite charming when he wants. Undertaker is right; we cannot afford to harbour renegades, especially now. The next century will be one of tremendous global conflict and will see a rise in religious fanaticism. The London Dispatch _must_ stand as one.” He laid his hand over hers in an almost unprecedented gesture of affection. “I know you don’t want to see him culled, but you must promise me that you will put the interests of the Dispatch first.”

Grell swallowed hard. After so many turbulent years, to see William treat her as an equal, to show affection and concern. “Will, my dearest,” she said, “I haven’t always acted in the best interests of the Dispatch, I know. I became an instructor because I wanted to see the trainees become the best reapers possible, to carry out the Will of the Higher Up.” Her fingers tangled themselves in the streak of silver that grew down one side of her head. “I will give Gregory every chance, but if he is unfit, I will not stand in your way.”

XXXXXXXXXX

“Oh don’t carry on so!” Grell exclaimed as Gregory tried to shrug her off when she took his arm to lead him into the portal she had created. “You have very little experience at travelling like this.”

They arrived, a moment later, in the vestibule of a comfortable house on the river. “Have you read the file? Tell me what it says about tonight’s collection.”

“Agnes Johnson,” he said. “A widow, aged 82. Four children, three still living. She led an apparently blameless life as a merchant’s wife and will die tonight, peacefully, in her own bed, surrounded by her family.”

“Very good,” she encouraged. “This is what is known as a good death. To die at home, of natural causes, with loved ones present.”

“She must face Divine Judgement before her death can be called good.”

Grell glanced sharply at him, but let the comment pass. “We will go into the bedroom now. The family will not see us. We appear only as shadows.”

The old woman was surrounded by her children and grandchildren. A priest read the Last Rites.

“Papist!” he muttered.

“It is not your concern how she finds her path to the Higher Up,” she snapped. “It’s time. I will retrieve the soul. Be prepared to study the Cinematic Record and collect it.”

It took no more than the lightest touch of her Death Scythe. The soul yielded itself without difficulty; this woman was at peace and ready to leave. Grell watched the record unspool and kept a close eye on Gregory as he caught it and guided it with his trainee Scythe. His movements were clumsy, she took hold of his arm to direct him, but the collection was easily accomplished.

“Not bad,” she said, affixing the stamp. “A little awkward, but you should improve with experience. I’ll buy you a pint and we’ll discuss the Record when we get back to the realm.”

“I do not sully myself with alcohol.”

“Then you can watch me drink,” she said, yanking him through the portal.

She had meant to take him to one of the pubs near the students’ residence, but decided a small shock might be in order. They stood under the shadow of a burnt-out structure, surrounded by crumbling buildings. Wraith-like figures lurked in the darkness, their green-gold Shinigami eyes glittering unnaturally or dull and sunken.

“Careful,” she said, “these steps aren’t too safe.” She led him down a rotting wooden staircase to a murkily lit bar. “Hello dear,” she called out to the publican. “Don’t look so worried. I haven’t brought any demons with me this time.”

“What is this place?” Gregory asked.

Grell was pleased to see she had finally pierced his armour of indifference. He looked dazed and slightly sick. “It’s the Old Town. You must have heard of it by now.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“Yes it is. A regular den of iniquity,” she giggled. “No wonder I’m so at home here.” She called over the bartender. “I’ll have a pint and whatever you have on hand for my friend here, who has taken the Pledge.” She watched in amusement as he shoved the glass that appeared away and tried to rise. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” she said softly. “You’ll never find your way out of here and your glasses and your Scythe are worth more than the rest of your sorry hide to some of them out there.”

“Take me back to the residence at once! How dare you bring me to such a foul place?”

“So that you might see what happens to the outcasts of our world. You wouldn’t last a week here. Now shut up and tell me what you saw in the Record and why I chose to let her die.”

He provided her with a fairly accurate summary of the woman’s life. “She was an old woman. Her life was done. There was nothing extraordinary to keep her here.”

“Good,” she said. “But tomorrow’s collection will not be so easy. Study the file tonight and be prepared.”

She gazed about the dimly lit room and felt, for a moment, the dark heat pooling in her loins, felt the fizzing anticipation and recalled the madness of those months after the Ripper when she visited this place to silence the shrieking in her head, to seduce and slaughter with reckless abandon. “These are the true lost souls,” she murmured. “The ones deemed unfit and cast out. You are not a stupid young man. You have been given a chance to expiate the great sin you committed against the Will of the Higher Up. They have lost that chance and will exist like this for eternity.” She grasped his arm. “Don’t turn your face from the Divine,” she said urgently. “Learn to forgive. Learn to love.”

XXXXXXXXXX

“I’m sorry I’m so late, darling,” Grell said, a little later in Undertaker’s shop.

“Were there any difficulties? You said it should be a straightforward collection.”

“It was. He did reasonably well, considering how new he is. I took him for a drink afterwards.” She hung up her coat and sat down to remove her shoes, wriggling her toes with relief.

Undertaker stood behind her and began to massage her shoulders. “Then his attitude is improving?”

She hesitated. “Actually, no, so I decided to give him a bit of a fright and took him to the Old Town.”

“You took him to the Old Town! Honestly Grell!”

She dissolved into giggles. “You sounded just like William!”

“This is no laughing matter. You promised not to return to the Old Town.”

“No dear. I promised not to seek out my former amusements there.” She twisted in the chair to face him. “I know you’re annoyed with me, but-”

“I am more than annoyed. I am very angry. Time and again, you put yourself into dangerous situations without thought. One day, your pride and recklessness will take you too far. You have no consideration for the people who care about you.” He whirled away from her, his robes flying, and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Grell threw her shoe at the door with as much force as she could and stalked over to the stove, where, with as much noise as possible, she made herself a cup of tea. She collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table and rested her head in her hands. Gloomily sipping at her tea, she admitted that she was discouraged. Their little expedition had succeeded only in increasing Gregory’s dislike for her and had been motivated by her own arrogance. She should have listened to William and Undertaker, but it was too late. The young man had been promised a fair test in the field, but he would never accept her help or coaching now. Her wilfulness and foolishness almost guaranteed his failure. She buried her head in her arms and sobbed with frustration.

“My dear,” said a quiet voice behind her, “I didn’t mean to be so harsh.”

“Oh go away!” she shouted. “I look awful when I cry.” She sniffled and swiped the back of her hand against her nose.

Undertaker sat next to her and pressed a square of cloth into her hand. “You never seem to have a handkerchief when you need one,” he chuckled.

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “You’re right. You and William both. He shouldn’t have been selected, but he is here and he has been promised a chance to prove himself. I should have passed him with the recommendation that he be placed on probation and watched carefully. Instead, I’m afraid I may have doomed him.”

“Your decision was reckless and impulsive, but very generous. You must not blame yourself if he fails.”

“I should have listened to you. Did you ever encounter such as him when you were active?”

“Once or twice. One was culled and the other - the results were not pleasant. He began to gather followers. It caused great turmoil until the Council stepped in.”

“Oh dear! What happened?”

“A series of arrests and extermination of him and his faction. I had to take part. It was one of the most horrifying experiences of my entire existence.”

“Oh how dreadful!” She lapsed into gloomy silence.

“Why not tell William and Oliver that you don’t care to continue with the trial and let things follow their course?”

“I can’t!” she cried. “This is why I became an instructor in the first place. The trainees are frightened and bewildered or angry. No one bothers about that. All the Dispatch cares about is turning out reapers who will collect without question or thought. Not everyone is like William.”

“Thank heavens for that,” he snorted.

“But he was selected for a reason. There must be something. Some spark that can be cultivated.”

“Perhaps, but there is always the danger that the spark will become a flame that devours everything in its path.”

XXXXXXXXXX

_December 29, 1890_

All of Great Britain had been caught in an unrelentingly cold winter. Since November, entire days had passed with almost no sunshine and London had been shrouded in fog and ice. Grell and Gregory shivered in front of the impressive townhouse on Belgrave Square.

“What did the file say about tonight’s job?”

“The Honourable Justin Whyte. Youngest son of a viscount, aged 26. No wife or children. He has no career and leads an aimless life, supported by his family.”

“Correct,” she said. “He will slip on the ice and hit his head, dying from his injuries. Do you foresee any difficulties in this collection?”

“What could there possibly be?”

Grell pressed her lips together in annoyance. Did he really believe that such a young man would give up his soul without a struggle? “Then you should have no trouble,” she said. “He is coming out of the house now.”

“Drunk,” he muttered. “He has no one to blame but himself. Such deserve to die.”

Before she could frame a suitable reply, the young man slipped and fell. “Get to work,” she ordered.

Gregory approached the prone figure and sank his Scythe into his chest. The Cinematic Record unfurled with unexpected speed, lashing out at the young trainee and knocking him to the ground. Grell stood by, her own Death Scythe at the ready, waiting to see how he would handle the situation. He scrambled to his feet and flailed with his Scythe, just managing to catch the strips of film before they escaped. Swinging madly, he sliced several, which wrapped tightly around his body. He was jerked to the ground again and struggled wildly against the celluloid that wound ever tighter around him.

Grell stepped in and deftly cut him free, catching the escaping Record. Deaf to everything but the roar of her chainsaw, she felt her heart thundering and entered into the heady joy of battle. It was over sooner than she would have liked; it had been so long since she had been able to fling herself into a real struggle with a resistant soul. Panting with exhilaration, she caught the last of the Record and placed the stamp.

“Oh that was wonderful!” she shrieked, swinging her Death Scythe in mad circles and dancing about with glee. Finally, she turned her attention to the young man on the ground. “Get up!” she commanded. “You aren’t hurt. Just a little bruised.”

“I suppose you’re going to fail me now.”

“This is only part of the test. Hopefully, you’ve learned something from it. Now, was I right in allowing him to die?”

“He was worthless, drunk and stumbling. He had nothing to offer in this world.”

“How would you know?” Grell shouted. “You didn’t even view the Record. You were too busy fighting with the soul. He has a mother, who will weep over his loss and a younger sister, who loved him dearly. I will not consider tonight a failure if you take what you have learned from it to heart. The soul could have escaped and taken you with it because you underestimated the difficulty of the job. And worse, in not viewing the Cinematic Record properly, you were in no way fit to make a fair judgement.” She prodded him in the chest with her Death Scythe. “We are here to fulfill the Will of the Higher Up. Your opinions do not matter!”

“Who are you to speak of the Will of the Higher Up? You are an unnatural monster, who engages in a loathsome liaison with a ghoul,” he sputtered. “I’ve heard all about you! How you make lustful advances at every man you meet - even a demon! You will be struck down!”

“Maybe so,” she said, just managing to keep her temper in check, “but that is not for you to decide.” She dismissed her Scythe before she gave in to the urge to turn it upon him. “I’ll take you back to the residence now. We have two jobs tomorrow. I suggest you consider carefully how you will approach them to avoid a repeat of tonight. I will be making my decision when they are done.”

She was back at Undertaker’s shop a few minutes later, feeling deeply disheartened by the events of that night. The collection itself hadn’t been that disastrous - William had experienced similar difficulties during their final exam, but she was becoming more convinced that there was no place among the Shinigami for the likes of Gregory Malone.

“My dearest,” Undertaker helped her remove her coat, “you look so tired and cold.”

“It’s a beastly evening,” she complained, gratefully sinking down into a chair in front of the fire. “So cold and icy.” She rubbed her hands together before the blaze. “I couldn’t wait to get back here. I dumped him at the residence and returned immediately.”

He knelt before her and drew off her shoes, chafing her icy feet between his hands. “How did things proceed this evening?”

“Not very well,” she sighed, giving him a brief account. “Unless he surprises me tomorrow, he is going to fail.”

He fixed his luminous green eyes on her face. “And if he does, it must be considered the Will of the Higher Up. His selection for this existence was clearly a mistake.”

“I’m going to view his Record tomorrow morning - try to discover what makes him this way and see what was in him that made him worthy for selection. Perhaps, if I understand him better, I might still be able to reach him.” She rubbed her face tiredly, “I can’t bear the idea of sending a young man to rot in the Asylum for eternity.”

Undertaker pulled her to her feet and folded her in his arms. “My dear, sweet, prickly wild rose,” he murmured, “if that young man does not understand that you are the greatest ally he will ever have, he is an even greater fool than I thought.”

XXXXXXXXXX

_December 30, 1890_

Grell left the Library the following morning, angry and discouraged. After a lengthy argument, the Head Librarian allowed to her see Gregory’s Cinematic Record. Had he been the product of a stern, puritanical upbringing, she might understand, but his family had been simple, loving people, constantly at a loss to comprehend their selfish, arrogant offspring - a youth convinced that he was better than everyone, chosen for some special purpose, marked for a great destiny. Even his death had been an elaborate act that had, unfortunately, become all too real.

William’s warning and other information haunted her. In less than sixty years they would face a genocide that would consume millions of innocent people. A reaper who shared the opinions of the architect of the upcoming massacre could not be permitted to exist.

How had he been selected? She was filled with a deep, smouldering rage at those who had chosen him and at him. Her own selection had most likely been a mistake; only that year had she finally understood she had been deemed worthy because she knew how to love. Even William, who hid behind a facade of cool detachment, cared for his subordinates, worried about their welfare and grieved when one was struck down. But Gregory - it was as if the Maker had expended everything on his appearance and nothing else. And, suddenly, she knew what it was - his inner world was completely without laughter. Undertaker had recognized that immediately, she realized, and knew he would never be fit to live among the Shinigami.

But she had promised him a fair trial and vowed that if she saw the slightest glimmer of compassion, tenderness or empathy during today’s jobs, saw the tiniest hint that he had learned he was the instrument of the Divine, she would pass him. She had dreamed of the Asylum the night before - the inmates, deteriorated to the level of animals and the guards scarcely less brutal, and regarded the young man before her with real pity.

“Right,” she said. “We’ll head out now. Hopefully, you’ve thought about last night and will use what you’ve learned.”

A moment later, they were in a shabby room stinking of blood, sweat and impending death near the docks. The thin, fretful wail of a newborn could be heard, but their attention was on the waxen-faced young woman who moaned fitfully on the bloodstained bed while two ragged children tried to comfort her.

“Rebecca Martin, aged 22. Three children. Unwed,” he sneered. “Will die of loss of blood during the birth of her latest bastard.”

Grell’s heart sank; he had learned nothing, but there was something else in the room. A shadow lurked in the corner and, under the stench of the room, another unmistakable scent. “Do you see anything else of note?” she asked quietly.

“Nothing.”

The red eyes of the demon gleamed in the dimness. For one wild second, she thought of leaving him to his fate, of giving up the soul so that the final decision was taken from her hands and, if he did prevail, she would pass him without question. But every soul was precious - deserved to be fought for and there were three helpless children in the room. She grinned menacingly at the fiend, tingling with anticipation and brought her Scythe to life. “Get the soul, quickly!” she shouted. “I’ll take care of him.”

But the demon was clearly starving. He snatched up the infant and sank his teeth into it. No longer bothering to conceal herself, Grell leapt across the room and caught the tiny wisp of its soul before it could be consumed and hurled herself at the demon. Compared to Sebastian, he was obviously a very minor demon, but his hunger gave him strength and he deflected her attack with surprising force, sending her flying across the room.

She sprang to her feet, laughing and shook out her hair. “Oh my!” she crooned. “This is going to be fun!” She swung her chainsaw in a lethal arc, but he caught up one of the screaming children and held it before him like a shield.

“Coward!” she hissed, pulling back her attack. “Filthy demon scum, hiding behind a child.” She glanced at Gregory. He had a clear chance; he swung his Scythe clumsily, striking a glancing blow to his shoulder, but it was enough to make him release the child. With a shriek of glee, she lunged forward with her Death Scythe and finished him off. She held it aloft, dripping with blood, and whooped in triumph until her attention was caught by Gregory, staring at her with real hate in his eyes.

She shoved past him to concentrate on the woman on the bed and released her soul. She did not give it up easily as Grell viewed her Record. It was very similar to that of the women she had killed in Whitechapel, except this woman had kept her children and attempted to provide for them in the only way she could. Just as she affixed the stamp, she felt a hand tug at her coat.

“Has Mama gone to Heaven to be with the angels?”

“Your mother was a sinner-” Gregory began. Before he could say anything more, Grell whacked him on the side of his head with her Scythe. It was immensely satisfying; no wonder William had enjoyed doing it so much.

“Your mother and little brother are at rest now,” she said. She had no idea how to speak to children, but attempted a word of comfort. “You will have to be very brave and look after one another. Come Gregory.”

She was sorely tempted to drag him out by his hair, but contented herself with taking firm hold of his arm and leading him into the street. She stopped a passerby without concern for her own appearance. It had been her experience that most humans saw what they wanted to see. “There are a dead woman and infant in there as well as two children. Alert the beadle.”

She hurled Gregory, with as much force as she could, against a wall. “Now you, listen to me,” she shouted. “The only reason I am not failing you right now is because you were of some use in the fight with the demon, which saved that child’s life. How dare you say such a thing to a child who had just lost her mother?”

“That woman is better off dead. The children are better off without her. They will be given a Christian upbringing in the workhouse.”

“They will probably die in the workhouse,” she screeched. “Just shut up and don’t say another word until we get to our final job. It’s your last chance.”

She grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet, leaping to the rooftop. “Follow me,” she ordered. In a blur of scarlet, she travelled, caught up, for a moment, in the excitement of soaring through the night, the proud death-god intent on her prey. It was bitterly cold, the wind cut through her and sleet clung to her coat, but she didn’t care as she was borne up through the dark, her hair streaming behind her. She halted her wild flight to take hold of a church spire, stretched her arm to the sky and struck her signature pose. How she missed this!

She cast a look at Gregory. Surely, he must feel the exhilaration of flying through the night, of speeding across the rooftops to become one with the wind. His face was red from the cold, but expressionless, his eyes stony and dull, and, in that moment, she knew he was going to fail. She dropped, with a soft thud to the ice-slick cobblestones

“Abigail Dobson, aged nine. Our final job,” she said. “She is an orphan, who sells flowers in the summer and watercress in the winter. The harsh weather has made it impossible for her to find any to sell. She will die of hunger and exposure. A short, sad existence and cruel death.”

“Why do you care? You say we exist to do the Will of the Higher Up, yet you care about the souls you collect.”

She peered closely at him. Had she finally reached him? “Because every soul is precious in the Eyes of the Divine.”

“Every soul?” he sneered. “The crippled? The weak? The fallen? There is no place for them.”

She swallowed hard. The test was over; he had failed, but she tried once more. “We do not question the Will, but we lament the loss of life and mourn what might have been and, sometimes, we celebrate a life well-lived. That is how we expiate our sin. That is the price of our redemption.”

“You? Redeemed?” He laughed bitterly. “Your very existence is an affront. I should end it now.” He raised his Scythe.

Grell knocked it effortlessly from his hand. “Temper, temper,” she chided. She’d had enough of the whole business, was weary and heartsick and anxious for it to be ended.

“Aren’t you going to strike me down?”

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of spending your last moments in the belief you had been martyred,” she sneered. “Our subject is here,” she said, gesturing to a slight figure, half-covered in snow. “Don’t even think of moving. You’ll never escape me and I might not kill you, but I might play with you for a little while.” The blade of her Death Scythe rested against his belly for an instant.

She bent over the child, huddled in a corner. Her eyes were already filmed over, ice crystals hung from her lashes and her skin was grey, but she was faintly smiling. Her soul slipped out easily. Grell viewed the short Record without comment and reached out to close her eyes when it was done.

She stood and faced Gregory. “You have failed,” she said. “I will return you to the realm and you will be notified when a decision has been made concerning your fate.” Her voice softened. “I am sorry. A great disservice was done to you by bringing you to this existence and I have failed as well. I have failed in teaching you what it means to be a reaper. I will intervene on your behalf to ensure that your treatment is not unduly harsh.”

“Don’t you dare!” he spat at her. “I would rather die a thousand deaths than accept pity from the likes of you.”

She saw the light of madness in his eyes. William was right. Undertaker was right. Holding her Scythe against his neck, she shoved him through the portal and they disappeared.

XXXXXXXXXX

Undertaker wordlessly held her tightly for a long time upon her return, before guiding her to a chair by the fire and taking up a hairbrush, began to brush the ice crystals from her hair.

“My dear,” he said when she finished her tale, “I will speak to the authorities and have the child brought here. I will look after her and ensure that her final resting place is comfortable and warm.”

“Thank you, darling,” she murmured, draining the last of the brandy he had given her.

He led her to their bedroom and stripped his robes while she undressed. “This weather has brought about a great increase in business. I must visit the docks tomorrow morning and arrange a delivery of timber for coffins.”

She nodded as she climbed into bed.

“But,” he continued, “I have not forgotten about the Dispatch New Year’s Eve party. I will meet you at your old flat tomorrow. You can make yourself beautiful for the party and we will go out for supper before.”

“That sounds lovely,” she yawned. “I mean to speak to them tomorrow; I must make sure that he is treated decently.” And, overcome by emotion and weariness, soothed by Undertaker’s nails scratching gently against her scalp, she slid into a deep sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

_December 31, 1890_

Grell was alone when she woke late the following morning. She washed and dressed quickly and spent some time scowling at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had grown out considerably since the events of the past Easter, but was still too ragged to attempt an elaborate hairstyle for the party and the blaze of silver that now grew down one side could still startle her.

She fingered it gently. It was a badge of honour, William had said: a symbol she had been touched by the Divine. Pity the Higher Up hadn’t thought to restore all her hair at the same time, she thought, chuckling at her irreverence.

A wild rose was waiting on the kitchen table, next to the teapot. How Undertaker had managed to find it in this weather she couldn’t imagine. She tucked it into her breast pocket, close to her heart - a talisman of his love. She was going to need it when she thought of what she had to do that day.

William was none too pleased when she appeared in his office and hauled him over to the Administration building, but she was convinced she could see a glimmer of humour in his eyes as she tore through several layers of bureaucracy before extorting a guarantee that Gregory would not be ill-treated.

“Are you happy?” he grumbled. “They have promised he will be decently housed and fairly-treated.”

“Not really,” she sighed, following him into his office. She paced restlessly about. “It seems like such a waste. I could not reach him and I cannot forgive myself for that. Maybe if another agent had conducted the trial . . . I knew he detested me, but thought I could win him over. I was too proud and arrogant and now he’s condemned to the Asylum and it’s all my fault and-”

William’s Death Scythe appeared to tap her gently on the head. “Be quiet, Grell,” he ordered, but he was smiling. “Honestly! Must you always be so dramatic? You gave him every chance. No one in this realm would have gone as far.” He was silent for a moment. “I’m very proud to have been your Supervisor, to have contributed in some small way to what you have become today.”

Sudden tears sprang to her eyes. “Why William,” she said softly, “thank you.”

“Now, I have a great deal of work to do if I’m going to get to the party this evening.”

“Of course. I’ll leave you now, but be warned,” she grinned, “I’ll be looking for you at midnight.”

“I would be very disappointed if you didn’t.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Grell approached the security officer outside of Gregory’s door. “How is he?”

He shrugged. “I took in his breakfast this morning and fetched the tray later. He didn’t say a word.”

“A transport vehicle is outside. We will be escorting him to - to another facility,” she managed to say.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and strode in. At first, she thought he was asleep; he lay peacefully on his bed. He couldn’t have taken his own life. A Shinigami, even a trainee, could be killed only by a demonic weapon or a Death Scythe. She loosened his shirt and examined him; he was virtually unmarked.

She summoned the guard. “I’m going to take him to the Infirmary myself. I don’t want the students to see him being carried out like this.”

“Agent Sutcliff, I swear I didn’t leave my post for a minute. No one came in.”

“It’s quite all right,” she reassured the worried guard. “The Higher Up has decided his fate. You are not to blame.”

She slung the body over her shoulder and opened a portal, not before stopping to pick up a single long, silver strand of hair from the floor.

XXXXXXXXXX

Undertaker was waiting in her flat when she unlocked the door. He had discarded his usual robes and hat for the trousers and frock-coat he had worn while active.

“Goodness!” Grell exclaimed. “Don’t you look distinguished! I should be grateful you wear those fusty old robes most of the time, else I’d be fighting every female for miles around over you.”

“I thought I should dress for the occasion. And, um, how did things go today?”

“It was the strangest thing!” she said brightly. “I went to his room and he was dead. No one at the Infirmary has a clue how it happened. Barely a mark on him - just the tiniest little nick near his throat.”

“How odd! And they have no idea?”

“None at all. Was your morning productive, dear?”

“I accomplished what I needed to do.”

“I’m glad. But this is such a mystery. He couldn’t have done it himself. There was no available weapon and absolutely no sign of a struggle.” She made her way to the bedroom, pausing at the door. “It couldn’t have been one of us. Only a _legendary_ reaper could have managed such a thing.”

“If you say so, my dear,” he said blandly. “I would prefer to think that it must have been the Will of the Higher Up.”

“If you say so, my dear.”

XXXXXXXXXX

“You know, my dear,” Undertaker whispered as he took her coat on their arrival at the party, “I’m tempted to carry you back to your flat and keep you there for the night.”

“Ooh!” she shivered melodramatically. “Are you going to kidnap me and ravish me? Don’t you like my outfit?”

“I do. It’s a little - surprising. That’s all.”

“I thought the students might be a little shocked if I showed up in an elaborate ball gown. This seemed like a suitable compromise.” She twirled before him. “I had it specially made. It’s modelled on one of those photographs of Oscar Wilde.”

“Those breeches leave nothing to the imagination.”

“I know,” she grinned. “They were the devil to get on. You’ll have to peel them off me later.” She smoothed down her velvet waistcoat and adjusted the huge, floppy bow beneath her chin, set her hat on her head at a rakish angle and strode into the ballroom on his arm.

She felt him stiffen as they were thronged by a group of her students. “Hello all!” she sang out. “It’s so lovely to see you all here. You must allow me to introduce you to Undertaker. He’s _legendary_ , you know.” One by one, she introduced them. “And, I forgot to mention, as a special treat, he’s going to come and give us all a talk one day next term.” She smirked knowingly at him.

“I am?”

“Of course you are, darling. You wouldn’t deprive the poor dears of the opportunity to learn from such a _legendary_ reaper. Would you?”

Before he could reply, she had sailed off across to room to speak to Ronald at the bar, leaving him surrounded by admiring young people.

“Ronnie, darling!” she cried. “It seems like ages since I’ve seen you!”

“Gosh, I miss you, Senpai,” he said, handing her a drink. “The office isn’t the same without you.”

“And I miss you, dear,” she said. “You’re looking awfully gloomy. What’s wrong?”

“William assigned me the first collection of the New Year. I have to leave soon.”

“What a pity! Then I’ll claim my hug now and you’d better get to work kissing all the girls here before you have to go.” She wrapped her arms around him. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Ronnie,” she whispered. “Especially this past year. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. And you’re doing so well these days, I hear.”

“That’s ‘cause I learned from the best.” He bent down and kissed her cheek. “Gotta kiss the prettiest lady here first,” he grinned.

She took a large swallow from her drink, set it aside and entered into the spirit of the party, exchanging hugs and handshakes with her former colleagues, teasing and flirting with many and catching up on news and gossip. She was whisked onto the floor for an exuberant polka with one of her students and allowed most of the others to trample all over her feet in a succession of reels, quadrilles and redowas until Undertaker caught her and swept her into a waltz.

“Are you angry with me?” he asked.

“No dear. I thought of doing the same, but couldn’t bring myself to it. Hopefully, he’s at peace, wherever he is.”

“It’s almost midnight,” he said as the music drew to a close.

“What a year it’s been,” she said softly. “I’ve been given so much - friends, new, exciting work and you,” she whispered, pulling his head down just as the shouts of “Happy New Year” rang about them.

“No more than I’ve been given, my dear.”

She felt a tap on her shoulder. William was standing behind her. “May I?” He bent and kissed her cheek. “Happy New Year, Grell.”

Growing pink, she hugged him fiercely for an instant; he would always hold a special place in her heart. “Happy New Year, dearest,” she murmured.

“It’s been quite an eventful year for you,” he said.

“It certainly has. Do you think the next will be quite as exciting?”

William exchanged a look with Undertaker. “As long as you are around, I think we can count on it.”


End file.
